


'Cause You Like To Taste

by sweetbutterbliss



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Derek, M/M, Masturbation, Mates, Oblivious Stiles, Oral Sex, Pining Derek, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:32:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1935837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetbutterbliss/pseuds/sweetbutterbliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is the kind of guy who casually threatens violence. He has it on good authority that he doesn't even actually have to say anything; just stand there and glower like the 'sourwolf' that he's been told he is.</p>
<p>He usually doesn't follow through, but he usually doesn't have to, the glare is enough. But right now, he's never wanted to actually rip someone's throat out more.  His wolf rolls just under the surface, wanting to take over and protect what's theirs, to take out the threat and make sure that Stiles smells like Derek inside and out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Cause You Like To Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Two anons on tumblr wanted jealous!Derek. So here he is. 
> 
> beta'd by [Heather.](http://haveyoumethoward.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Title from [Sweater Weather](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GCdwKhTtNNw&feature=kp) by The Neighbourhood, because every time I hear them say "the holes in my sweater" I think of Derek.

Derek is the kind of guy who casually threatens violence. He has it on good authority that he doesn't even actually have to say anything; just stand there and glower like the 'sourwolf' that he's been told he is.

He usually doesn't follow through, but he usually doesn't have to, the glare is enough. But right now, he's never wanted to actually rip someone's throat out more. His wolf rolls just under the surface, wanting to take over and protect what's theirs, to take out the threat and make sure that Stiles smells like Derek inside and out.

He closes his eyes and tips his head back against the chair, trying to take deep breaths. _Do not wolf out on Stiles' new boyfriend. Do not wolf out on Stiles' new boyfriend._

He opens his eyes to meet Erica's big, kohl lined, concerned gaze. He shakes his head and gives her a tight smile; she doesn't look reassured but turns back to her pizza anyway.

Chad has one hand under the table and is whispering quietly into Stiles' ear. Derek tries his best not to listen to what they're saying, but the way Stiles blushes and shifts in his seat makes him want to shred his napkin into tiny, angry confetti. 

"How do you guys eat like this and still look the way you do?" Chad looks pointedly at the table loaded with pizza, Chinese food, and a dizzying array of chip and dip. "I keep telling Stiles he should join me at the gym, he'd be so hot with a bit more muscle."

Stiles ducks his head and Derek feels his claws sinking into his own thigh. Before he can say anything, Scott looks up sharply and smiles his dopey smile.

"Stiles is awesome no matter what."

"Thanks, dude," they both lean over and high five, but Derek doesn't miss Chad's eye roll. He pushes his chair back and takes a few deep breaths before he can speak without growling.

"I have some errands to run," he grits his teeth. "It was nice to meet you, Chad."

He doesn't attempt to sound like he means it, that would probably tip Stiles off faster than being his usual terse self. He ignores Stiles' glare and the rest of the pack's attempt not to laugh; Boyd is the only one keeping a straight face as he stoically eats his beef with broccoli.

Once outside, he shakes it off and shifts, letting the wolf take over. He barely manages to retain enough human thought to keep from running into the house and dragging Stiles' out by his scruff. Instead, he lopes into the woods, forgetting himself in the sounds and feel of his territory.

***

He ends up staying out all night and comes back in the early hours of the morning to find most of the pack still there, eating pancakes that Kira is churning out with her usual grace, spinning around the kitchen tossing butter and slicing bananas with a giant knife.

He hears them discussing Chad as he passes by, heading toward the shower.

"He pops his collar and wears sunglasses inside," Isaac complains.

"Yeah he seems like a douche," Jackson mumbles around a mouthful. Everyone goes silent, Derek can't even hear chewing or the scrape of silverware on porcelain.

"Holy crap. If Jackson thinks he's a douche then he must be like...an epic douche. An uber douche. A meta douche," Scott finally breaks the silence.

He tunes out the curses and laughter as he slips inside his soundproof bedroom. When he'd had the house rebuilt, he'd made sure the pack members could have privacy in their rooms at least. But really, it was for himself - if he'd had hear any more of their marathon fucking sessions, he was going to kick them all out.

In the shower, he props himself up with one hand against the cold tile and wraps his hand around his cock. He starts out trying not to think about anyone but, as it does every other time, it ends up being about Stiles. The way his mouth is almost always half open, his long fingers, and the way he shoves his sleeves up to reveal his hairy forearms. Derek shuts his eyes tight, imagining the way Stiles would look with bruises and teeth marks across his pale, freckled skin. He comes with a gasp and stands under the heat of the water for a few minutes, catching his breath.

He points the showerhead at the wall to clean up the mess, and makes his daily (hourly) vow to get his shit together.

***

Stiles smells like sorrow and something bitter. He shakes his head and forces a smile at everyone. The pack, out of courtesy for the human, don't mention the skip in his heartbeat when he so obviously lies. But they do force him into a puppy pile, pressing against him on the couch and pretending like it's an everyday occurrence to let him watch The Avengers.

Again.

Derek sits in the corner with Stiles leaning warm and heavy against his side, and Erica shoved up against Stiles' other side, not so subtly pushing him closer to Derek. Everyone else is shoved together on the floor, and they all smell like home and contentment. An almost constant rumble emanates from them, like a werewolf purr.

Stiles still smells bitter, like orange rinds, but some of his usual sweet scent is seeping in. His head is resting against Derek's shoulder allowing Derek to smell his shampoo and closes his eyes to inhale deeply. He hopes he's maintaining nonchalance, but the way that Scott keeps smirking at him proves that he's doing a shit job. He takes comfort in Stiles' basic, oblivious human nature and curls his lip at Scott.

Scott just grins and turns back to Kira, not even bother to flash his eyes in a show of dominance.

***

After the movie's over, and everyone is traipsing back to their rooms or cars, Stiles stands in the kitchen shuffling his feet, his hands shoved into his pockets. Derek doesn't question it, just continues to clean the dishes, leaving the crusty lasagna pan to soak. He knows that sometimes it's just good to be near someone. Stiles has either a long drive back to campus or an empty childhood bedroom waiting for him, the Sheriff working all hours as usual.

"You want to crash here?"

Stiles nods, a brief flash of a smile. Derek drags the comforter off his own bed and one of his pillows. He tries not to think about how they'll smell of Stiles later, when he takes them back.

"I think I'll just channel surf if that's cool," Stiles arranges himself on the couch in a blanket nest with the remote within easy reach.

"Yeah. S'cool," Derek sits down in the recliner and pretends to read his book until Stiles clicks the off the TV and yawns. For all the puppy jokes Stiles likes to make, he resembles one more than Derek would ever dare to tell him. He pushes at his covers and pillows, turning over a few times before finding the optimum comfort level, and flops down with a little happy sound, limbs hanging off the side.

Derek finds himself staring at him and smiling, but manages to catch himself before Stiles looks up.

"Think I'm going to crash, dude."

"Yeah. Me too," Derek replies.

He stands and stretches, hearing his bones pop and creak.

"You're getting old, big guy," Stiles mumbles through a grin.

"Funny guy. You okay?"

"Yeah, turns out Chad was kind of a douchebag."

Derek nods, and is quietly proud of himself for not saying anything about Chad. He climbs the stairs, listening as Stiles' heart slows down into a steady sleep rhythm before shutting his own door.

***

"Who are you talking to?" Lydia demands, her pink lips thinning out when Stiles refuses to answer.

Derek raises a questioning eyebrow.

"He's talking to that douche. The one who cheated on him."

"Chad," Kira supplies helpfully.

"He doesn't deserve an actual name. He's the Douchebag Who Cheated on Stiles and so he deserves to die," Lydia snorts, attempting to grab the phone from Stiles, who's dancing away, a grim look on his face.

Isaac easily plucks the phone from Stiles without effort and tosses it across the yard to Lydia, who turns it off and shoves it in her purse.

"No, you can't have it back. We're not letting you do this to yourself," Lydia crosses her arms, her red curls bouncing as she shakes her head firmly.

"You don't get to fucking decide!" Stiles shouts, his face turning red.

Everyone goes quiet; Stiles doesn't get mad that often. Or, to be more accurate, he usually hides it behind jokes. But now, he's gone completely still, a furious look crossing his face.

"Stiles. You just...you deserve better." Scott tries, with one of his patented puppy dog faces.

"Look. I know you're the alpha or whatever dude, but that doesn't mean you get to decide who I fuck."

Derek winces at the thought of Stiles fucking anyone but, before anyone else can say anything, he clears his throat.

"Why don't we meet later? I think Stiles needs some space."

Scott looks like he's about to protest, but the dark look on Stiles' face stops him. 

"Okay. Just think about it, dude. We love you, you know."

Stiles' face softens a bit and he nods, they give each other enthusiastic bro hugs, with back slapping and chest bumping before Scott takes Kira's hand and pulls her around to the front of the house.

Lydia cocks her head, arms crossed.

"You still can't have your phone," she challenges.

"Lydia. Light of my life. I've known and loved you for over ten years. You think I thought I was gonna talk you out of something you'd already decided on? I wouldn't even try," Stiles sighs, holding up his hands.

"You can have it back tomorrow. After you've thought about it," she leans in to hug him.

"Okay, mom. And what if I decide I do want him back?" he asks, quieter this time, that bitter rind smell rising from him again.

"Then I guess we'll have to accept you as the idiot you are. And be here to pick up the pieces afterwards. Always," she smacks a kiss on his cheek and then stomps across the yard on her impossibly high heels.

"Do you mind if I just stay?" the unspoken _I don't want to be alone_ left hanging in the air. Derek nods silently.

***

Derek chews on his lip as he watches Stiles. It feels like he's always watching him, he probably gets less and less subtle, but he can't help it. Stiles' face is lit by his laptop, the screen reflected in his thick framed glasses.

He's chatting with someone, the computer angled away from Derek's line of sight. Derek sighs as Stiles frowns at the screen.

"You talking to Chad?" Derek leans against the counter, attempting casual, but probably missing by a mile.

"No," Stiles is a terrible liar, even without the added bonus of werewolf senses. 

"You're the worst liar. I can hear your heart, idiot."

"Fine. What does it matter to everyone?" Stiles scowls, his mouth twisting miserably to the side.

Derek pushes down the thick jealousy that rises in his throat.

"They...we...just don't want to see you hurt again." 

"He says he's sorry," Stiles rubs at his eyes, pushing his glasses up onto his head. He gazes at Derek, his amber eyes wide and pleading.

Derek can't. His wolf just can't handle it. Someone else is making his mate sad and unsure. He huffs, suppressing the wolf as it howls under his skin, chanting _mate, mate, mate._

He steps closer to Stiles and leans into his space, shutting the laptop screen.

"Woah, dude. Boundaries," Stiles pushes at his chest without effect.

Derek puts his hands on either side of the counter and cages him in.

"They'll always say they're sorry, Stiles. They'll fuck with your head and they'll hurt you, and then they'll say they're sorry. Every. Single. Time."

Stiles deflates a little, slumping forward into Derek. He sniffles and presses his face into Derek's chest.

"I know. Just...who else would want me, Derek?" his voice is muffled with tears, pressed into Derek's shirt.

Derek slides his hands down Stiles' arms and hauls him closer, wrapping arms around his shoulders and resting his chin on the top of Stiles' messy hair. He swallows and closes his eyes.

"I would," he whispers, without thinking about it.

"What?" Stiles leans back and stares at Derek like he's grown another werewolf head. 

"I would. I mean, I do," he tries to hug Stiles tighter, but Stiles pushes him back enough to slip off his stool and stumble out of Derek's space.

"You do what?" Stiles holds up a trembling hand, his eyes wet and his mouth red. 

Derek hadn't meant to say anything, especially during Stiles' relationship crisis. But he's stuck his foot in his mouth already, so he pushes on.

"I want you," he rocks back on his heels and looks at Stiles' shoulder, scared to look him in the eye.

"You want me," Stiles whispers, disbelief evident in his voice.

"Yeah. For a while now," Derek shrugs. He'd give anything to shift and run away right now, but he stands firm, feeling restless in his skin.

"For a while..." Stiles lets out a choked laugh.

"You don't have to want me back. It's okay, but I just wanted you to know that he's not your only option. You'll meet other, better people," Derek snaps his mouth shut, mortified at how much he's said.

"I don't want to meet other, better people," Stiles replies, his voice like iron.

"Of course, it's your decision. Lydia was right; we'll be here if you need us," Derek is already moving backwards, anticipating the change. His breath feels squeezed out of him - he's admitted his stupid feelings and Stiles has rejected him. Stiles wants someone who doesn't fucking deserve him. His wolf roils and howls, and he can feel his claws growing.

"Where the fuck are you going, Derek?" Stiles steps forward.

"I just don't want to be here right now. Is that so fucking strange?" he scowls, retreating back into his usual anchor; anger and pain. "Here. You can use this to call Chad."

He slides his phone across the counter top, and turns to go before he hears Stiles gasp out.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Sourwolf?! I don't want Chad."

Derek turns back and Stiles' eyes are still wet, and he's still trembling, but he's also grinning widely.

"What?" Derek gapes at him.

"You're the idiot, Der. I've wanted you since I was sixteen for fuck's sake. I always thought you knew but were being nice by ignoring it," he spreads his arms out and shrugs.

"I knew you wanted me. But not that you...wanted me," Derek tries to explain.

"Wow. Way to use your words," Stiles is still smiling and Derek moves into action. He steps up against Stiles, pushing him back until he hits the wall with a soft exhale. He presses himself against Stiles and slides a hand behind his neck, tilting it up by tugging the short hair at his nape. Stiles' eyes are closed and his mouth is still curved up - Derek brings their mouths together and he's never felt anything so right. 

It feels like he's been unable to breathe and now his lungs can finally fully expand. He licks at Stiles' lower lip, and Stiles opens his mouth with a groan. They trade kisses, swiping their tongues into each other's mouths, their hips pushing against each other. Derek can feel Stiles' hard on pressed against his own, and the friction is delicious.

He wants more, he wants to taste more. He pulls away and ignores Stiles' whimper of protest as he catches his hands, and rushes him up the stairs to his room. The house is empty, but he shuts the door anyway, kicking it closed behind them, then he drags Stiles back in by his belt loop.

He laughs when Stiles pushes him backwards, and he goes with it until he hits the bed. Stiles crawls up the bed, his knees on either side of Derek's thighs and begins opening Derek's jeans. He evades Derek's grasping hands and laughs happily when he bats them away.

He gets the jeans open, and moans aloud when he sees Derek isn't wearing any underwear. 

"You're so fucking hot. Like sex on a stick, Derek. Normally I love how tight your jeans are, I've spent many, many pack meetings admiring them and their...tightness," he shuffles back, peeling the denim down with him. "But right now, I'd go for some easy access sweatpants, dude."

"Do not call me dude while we're naked," Derek scowls and shimmies, to help Stiles with his task.

"You're the only one naked, Derek," Stiles dumps the jeans on the floor, and starts shoving at Derek's henley. "I like these too, you should always wear these. I mean, if you can't be naked, you should wear tight...oh soft...shirts like this." 

Derek rolls his eyes and pulls it over his head in one sharp movement. Stiles is quiet as he runs his hands across Derek's chest, scratching through the chest hair and sliding his hands across Derek's ribs. Derek's stomach jumps when Stiles runs his blunt nails down his happy trail.

"Oh God. I'm so pissed at you right now," Stiles mumbles.

"What?" Derek props himself up on his elbows, his eyebrows knit together.

"We could have been doing this for years!" Stiles wails, running a thumb up Derek's shaft.

"Uhhhh...yeah. Sorry?" Derek is finding it difficult to have coherent thoughts when Stiles wraps a big hand around his cock and tugs upwards with a wild grin.

He groans unhappily when Stiles pulls off and leaves the bed entirely.

"Don't worry. Just catching up," Stiles reassures him.

Derek can hear the sound of clothes and the jangle of a belt buckle hitting the floor. He stares at the ceiling, attempting to control his breathing. Then he feels skin against skin; Stiles feels cool against his own constant heat, and it's perfect and soothing. Stiles kneels over him, hands resting by his head, and smiles down at him.

"This is the best day," he whispers giddily. His scent is strong here, dusty books and cinnamon. Now there's the bright scent of happiness; it's new, which makes Derek a little sad. Stiles has been content, and even happy, but this pure joy that's rolling off him isn't something that Derek's ever scented before. Derek bites his lip to stop himself from saying all of the stupid things he knows will scare Stiles off.

He cards a hand through Stiles' hair and cups the back of his neck, pulling him closer, his other hand sliding down to just below Stiles' ass and pressing him closer to kiss again. He bends one knee up and uses the momentum to flip them over, tasting the laughter in Stiles' mouth.

"Oh God, you have _no_ idea how much I imagined this - you manhandling me with all your wolfy powers. Please and thank you," he mumbles against Derek's shoulder.

Derek grins, all teeth, predatory, and Stiles' eyes widen and dilate. He presses Stiles down and growls a little as he sucks marks and bites gently at Stiles' collarbone. He leaves one on Stiles' neck and leans back, pleased at the large and obvious bruise blooming.

"Scarves it is then," Stiles grins, resigned. "Can I mark you?"

Derek shakes his head, "You can try, but it won't stay."

"Oh, well that just means I'll have to work harder, huh?" he bites down hard on Derek's shoulder in reply. Derek hisses and moans when Stiles laves across it with his tongue, and Stiles watches, fascinated as the teeth marks fade, making a small and fascinated 'huh' sound.

Derek laughs and shoves him into the center of the bed. He can smell pre-come and he needs to get his mouth on Stiles' cock as soon as he can. He slips down the bed and pushes Stiles' legs apart, making himself comfortable in between them. Stiles lifts his head to watch him, his chest heaving. Derek smirks and keeps his eyes locked on Stiles when he licks the tip, tasting him, and laughs when Stiles' head thumps back against the bed with a garbled sound.

He pushes his mouth down until Stiles' cock is in the back of his throat, and just swallows around it, tasting it and feeling it resting heavily against his tongue. He can feel Stiles trying not to fuck up into his mouth out of some misguided courtesy, so he pulls off with a loud pop and licks his lips.

"I'm gonna come so fast, dude," Stiles warns, still looking up at the ceiling.

"That's alright. We have plenty of time," he licks at Stiles' balls, brushing his tongue a little behind them, sucking one ball into his mouth gently before letting it fall out.

"But I want to...do you," Stiles' hips are moving restlessly.

"You can. After."

"No," Stiles sits up again to look at Derek. He taps at Derek's hip and lies back down, "Now."

Derek looks at him in confusion, until Stiles sighs heavily through his nose.

"Come on dude. I want to suck your cock while you suck mine, so get the fuck over here," Stiles huffs. 

Derek takes a deep breath and maneuvers himself around. He has his knees on either side of Stiles' head and his hands braced against the bed, with Stiles' cock directly before his face. He hesitates to lower further; he's heavier than Stiles, and has horrible visions of explaining (probably to the Sheriff) that he smothered Stiles to death with his cock.

"Oh for the love of...Derek, I'll be fine. If I need you to stop I'll tap you on the hip. Okay?"

Derek's reply is just one long moan, because Stiles has grabbed his ass and pulled him down, easily taking his cock into his mouth. He hangs his head, forgetting everything but the feel of those long fingers digging into his flesh, and the hot wet suction of Stiles' mouth around him. He remembers that he has a job to do when Stiles arches up, his bobbing cock brushing against Derek's chin.

"Sorry," he mumbles nonsensically.

It's barely even a blowjob, Derek isn't at the right angle to really deep throat it, and every time he tries to reposition Stiles grips him harder and makes a negative noise around Derek's cock. He can barely concentrate on anything besides not coming anyway. He makes a mess of it, licking and sucking on the head as much as he can. He uses one fist to grip the bottom and Stiles fucks up into it, moaning and sending shock waves up Derek's spine. He licks all over Stiles, his cock and his balls, biting at his thighs and worrying marks into the pale skin.

He licks lower, pressing his tongue against Stiles' hole and rubbing his beard all across him, imagining Stiles complaining about it later when he tries to sit comfortably. His back is arched painfully, but he doesn't notice it when he licks over the fluttering hole and Stiles is coming with a long, vibrating moan. Derek feels the come splash across his chest and the smell alone makes his hips stutter as he comes too. Stiles swallows most of it, but Derek can't keep still, and he ends up with a face full of come as well.

Derek rolls over onto his back, one hand gripping at Stiles' ankle, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb. The quiet sound of their pants fill the room.

"Dude," Stiles breaks the silence.

"Yeah," Derek agrees quietly.

Derek hauls himself up and moves around until they're face to face again. He lifts Stiles' chin with two fingers, his mouth is swollen, his eyelashes are clumped with tears, and stripes of come still paint his chin and cheeks. Derek doesn't ask, just leans in and licks him clean. Stiles grips at his wrist and moans.

"You can't do that, dude. I'll get hard again."

"I don't really see the problem with that," Derek mumbles, his face buried into Stiles' sweaty neck.

"Well, I think I should at least eat first. You're gonna wear me out if I don't."

"We can do that. Shower first?"

"Yes please."

They don't move right away, Derek has a leg thrown over Stiles' hips and an arm wrapped tightly around his waist. He dozes a little, his wolf curled up and relaxed for the first time since...before the fire. Stiles wiggles around and peppers his face with kisses.

"C'mon. I'm starving," Stiles whines.

They end up having shower sex and then they head out in search of curly fries. And lube. A _lot_ of lube.

They spend the rest of the day in bed. 

"Just making up for lost time," Stiles teases as they lie sticky and sweaty again, slumped against the wall where Derek had held him up and fucked him before they slid to the floor in a tangle of tired limbs.

Derek nods, his eyes slipping closed. Even his werewolf stamina is taking a hit. He drags Stiles over to lie across him, his head tucked under Derek's chin.

"We should get up and sleep on the bed, old man."

Derek laughs and, between laughs, then he lets it slip.

"God, I love you."

He doesn't even realize he's said it until he feels Stiles stiffen and then pull back to sit up straight, looking down at Derek.

"What?" Stiles' voice is shaky.

Derek sits up and runs a hand through his hair. He hadn't imagined this, confessing his love after their first day together, on the floor, covered in drying sweat and come. Naked and vulnerable. His wolf is smug and he feels like it's chasing its tail, his emotions in an uproar.

"I...love you?" he repeats helplessly.

"Is it a question? Are you unsure?" Stiles frowns at him.

"No," Derek swallows. "I'm not unsure. I'm sure. All of it. 100% sure."

"All the sure?" Stiles mouth ticks up at the corner.

Derek looks at him, miserable and waiting.

"Good. Because I'm all the sure too. I love you too," Stiles twists his hands in his lap, avoiding Derek's eyes, but he's smiling.

Derek grins and hauls him back over his chest, kissing him hard. They're both too tired to actually do anything else for now, so they lie on the floor, and between kisses Derek does his best to mark as much skin as he can, if someone can't smell Derek on Stiles, they'll definitely see him. And everyone will know.

_Mine, mine, mine._

***

The next morning Lydia hands Stiles his phone, and knits her eyebrows together when he absently shoves it in his pocket and mutters his thanks.

"I'm still not sorry," she pushes.

"Oh. That's cool. Thanks, Lyds," he leans over and kisses her cheek before returning to his laptop. She steps up behind him; he smells fresh from a shower, and he has a huge hickie above his collar, complete with a perfect impression of teeth in the middle. He's not even trying to hide it.

She crosses her arms, furious and sad. He's never going to learn, he puts all of himself into someone else who isn't, and will never be, enough for him. She'd thought that when he'd gotten over her that he'd move on and find the one that would treat him how he deserved. But no, still dating fuckers like Chad. The asshole.

She opens her mouth to berate him when Derek steps into the kitchen, his hair wet and his feet bare. He brushes past Lydia with a nod and slips behind Stiles, wrapping arms around his waist and hooking his chin over Stiles' shoulder. He presses his mouth to Stiles' hickey and Stiles hisses, but reaches behind him to pull gently at Derek's hair.

"Trying to do my homework, dude."

"Right, sorry," Derek steals a kiss, and moves over to the coffee pot.

Lydia gapes and then breaks out into a grin when Derek glances over and gives her a sheepish smile. She knows now that she was right to take the phone. Now all the pining and sexual tension has been resolved, thanks to her genius. They should really be thanking her.

But she has shit to do, Fields medals to win, and so on. She pats Derek on the cheek and gooses Stiles on the hip before taking her leave, a smug smile on her face as she begins texting the rest of the pack.

The replies that come are along the lines of "Fucking, finally," and "thank _God_!"

**Author's Note:**

> My [ tumblr ](http://www.sweetbutterbliss.tumblr.com)


End file.
